Ghosts
by Meer-Katnip
Summary: Time is different here. Won't you come visit? (Mild AU. Gabrielle/Luna/Fleur.)


**This story is a remix of 'The House on Allen Road' by viking-fu which I beg you to go read first. It makes more sense than this does. It's set vaguely after the Virgin New Adventure 'Warlock' by Andrew Cartmel. I haven't read any other books in the War trilogy, so it might be a bit AU. Enjoy!**

* * *

_**Ghosts**_

* * *

Fleur swore that the house on Allen Road was alive sometimes.

When they had first bought it (_will buy it/ are buying it_)- mostly because of it's 'charm', as Gabrielle had put it, she thought it was ever so slightly creepy. Shadows loomed in ways that made no sense, furniture was out of place in the oddest ways, and she wasn't even going to begin to start on the sign out front that read 'Beware of the God'. The real estate agent had mentioned that the previous owner was slightly odd, and they might want to look out for his bizarre gadgets that were scattered around the house. Fleur had conducted a thorough search, and hadn't found a thing. But sometimes she could hear creaking and scuffling that didn't belong to any living creature.

Luna had told her that she thought the house was 'sweet, with a lot of character. And Snorkacks,' before dashing off to hunt for said Snorkacks. Maybe a bit too much character, though. Sometimes it was like the house was laughing at her. _Creak-creak._

* * *

The kitchen was (_is/has been_) well taken-care of. Every metal appliance polished to a fine shining finish, and the table immaculately cleaned. The first time Fleur had gone hunting through the fridge for a snack, she had come across a plate of cling-wrapped mushrooms that smelled faintly at first, then very strongly, of liquorice. There was a note tapped to the top that said, in a slanting, spidery script that looked like it might fall off the faded parchment at any time, _Please do not eat. I hope I __don't__ have to __emphasise__ how important this is. _

And then, just beneath it, in a woman's messy scrawl, _He is __so__ not kidding._

Fleur decided not to eat it, just in case. She tucked the little parcel down in the very back of the fridge, and hoped that no one would notice it or question it.

* * *

Sometimes they would hear (_have heard/are hearing_) muffled yowling noises, like a cat calling out for its mistress. It was always a sad sound, longing, sort of hopeful in a way. They found a cat's food bowl in the garage while exploring, with the name 'Chick' on it. Maybe it was the cat's bowl. It was dusty and disused, and hidden under a pile of old blankets like it didn't want to be seen. Maybe someone had hidden it there. They found a stone in the garden, white marble, with 'CHICK' scrawled on it messily, but with some care as well. Maybe the cat had died.

But if the cat was dead, then who drank the milk that they left out occasionally?

Maybe they'd never know.

* * *

Luna curled up at the foot of the bed, breathing softly in-and-out. In-and-out. Gabrielle's head rested on her stomach, and neither of them seemed to mind. Fleur lay awake, pillows lumped under her head. Whispers of the past echoed (_will echo/are echoing_) through the house. A woman's plummy British accent, a rolling Scottish brogue. Some laughter, some tears. The cat, meowing again. The smell of liquorice, stronger than ever. The house is most definitely alive.

Fleur eventually fell asleep, slipping down to lie by her sister and friend at the foot of the bed. It was an uneasy rest. The house on Allen Road was different in all the wrong ways.

* * *

The garden was especially unusual. Gabrielle took (_will take/is taking_) great delight in weeding it out and tending to the various plants and herbs that seemed to sprout up, undaunted, wherever there was a spare patch of ground. None of them knew what species they were, and even book and charms couldn't tell them. A large spiky bush with white flowers that unfolded like origami was at the centre of everything else. What looked like the ancient ruins of an alien civilisation were scattered throughout the garden. They considered selling the stones, or getting them identified, but never seemed to have the time. Maybe the house liked it that way.

* * *

Fleur found (_finds/will find)_ Luna in the laboratory once, eyes closed, and hands darting along the workbench. It looked almost like she was making a potion of some sort, but infinitely more dangerous. She tipped, poured, and mixed, dumping ingredients in the ice to her side when things began to smoke, keeping her eyes firmly closed all the while. Fleur kept quiet the whole time until she was finished, pouring clear liquid into two silver cans, and screwing the tops on firmly. And then she opened her eyes, gave Fleur a smile, and left. It was one of the more bizarre experiences Fleur had when living with Luna. The cans were marked faintly with a black pen- Nitro 9. A set of neat instructions of how to make it was set to the side, and not in Luna's handwriting, either. Fleur's limited experience in potion-making told her that it was some form of explosive.

She left it well alone.

She seemed to be doing that quite a lot lately.

* * *

Time passed (_will pass/is passing_) and the flowers in the garden bloomed (_will bloom/are blooming_). The house on Allen Road stands there, a mysterious figure on the end of the street. There won't be an explanation for it, or who it's really owned by- Fleur knows that it's not hers, no matter what the paperwork may say. It's a mystery, and it always (_has been/is/will be_).

* * *

Time is different here.

(f_orwards/backwards/present/past/future_)

Won't you come visit?

(_today/tomorrow/yesterday_)

* * *

The house on Allen Road is alive, and Fleur knows that fact without a doubt. She's learned to accept that, and the house doesn't laugh at her as often. A woman with chestnut-brown hair occasionally sits in the kitchen and pets the cat. One of them isn't really dead.

A short man with a straw hat is sometimes in the laboratory, frowning over the two silver cans in a corner. When he's in there, they shut the door and leave him be.

If an older woman is digging in the garden amongst the ruins, Gabrielle just watches her quietly as she puzzles out the secrets of the past.

Ghost of the (_past/present/future_) can handle themselves.

Who knows? Maybe one day Fleur will be a ghost of Allen Road herself.


End file.
